


So Much Better

by soyforramen



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: After Hogwarts, F/M, HP: EWE
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-30
Updated: 2015-11-16
Packaged: 2018-04-29 01:13:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 20,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5110967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soyforramen/pseuds/soyforramen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Meeting a weasel in a bar has never been this much fun.  Then again things would be so much better if he were naked.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Damn Draco, damn Blaise, damn the Ministry, and damnation of the worst kind on that Granger chit. If this was how the Ministry dealt with a low level infraction she’d hate to see what they would have done if she’d taken candy from a Hufflepuff. Pansy should have been given an award for making that particular corner of Brighton more appealing rather than having her wand stripped away for half a year. It wasn’t her fault that those Muggles so desperately needed some sort of beauty potion to make themselves presentable. And it certainly wasn’t her fault that there were those unfortunate, pig-like side-effects.

No it certainly wasn’t her fault and yet she was still the one suffering for it. And now she was drinking her self-pity away in a dingy, smoke-filled bar at 3:38 in the afternoon, a perfect imitation of her mother before she’d passed. Well, not quite a perfect imitation. Pansy had far better taste in liquor and in life than to drown herself in the sickly-sweet elven wine her mother favored. Not to mention the fact that her mother would surely die a second time if she saw the off-brand robes and second-hand heels her daughter had been reduced to wearing after the war.

The thought of her mother brought a sting of regret and Pansy brought another cigarette to her lips. The burn of smoke in her nostrils was far preferable to the sting of self-pity and loathing she’d surrounded herself since this morning. With another long, slow drag Pansy shook her now empty glass at the bartender. Abbey, or Blabby, whatever the Hufflepuff’s name was. 

As she waited for another, Pansy stubbed out her cigarette in the ashtray and wished that it was Granger’s face she was covering with ashes. If it hadn’t been for that cow Pansy’s sentence surely would have been commuted to probation or a monetary fine. Instead Granger had insisted on being lead counsel in Pansy’s case and as a result Blaise had spent the entire time ogling opposing counsel instead of defending Pansy against the overly harsh punishment. With friends like that to dig such a neat grave for her who needed enemies?

When the neat whiskey finally arrived in front of her to drown a new round of misery, Pansy took a small sip and began to dig in her purse for a new cigarette. A wink came from the depths of her purse and Pansy glared back at the emerald case. Though she was a newly convicted felon Pansy still refused to stoop to smoking those foul things Draco insisted were high quality. It wasn’t until Pansy discovered she’d already run through the package she’d purchased before this morning’s hearing that it was decided that she was desperate enough.

Grimacing at today’s new low Pansy lit the cigarette and almost gagged at the foul taste that filled her mouth. Bloody cheapskate had even cut the damn things with cheap tobacco weed. If anyone could afford high quality cigarettes it was Draco and yet he still refused to smoke anything of quality. Any guilt she may have felt from stealing the case from his coat pocket vanished as Pansy began to lose all feeling in her tongue. 

At least the cigarette case was quite lovely. One that she would have purchased for herself back when her family could still afford such things. And it certainly looked to be enough to cover her half of this month’s rent. Losing this would certainly serve the blond bastard right. He never could appreciate the beauty in anything and doubly so for anything made by hand.

Besides it was all Draco’s fault she’d been found guilty of selling controlled potions to illegal persons. If it hadn’t been for his substitution of dittany for asphodel she wouldn’t be sitting in this dark bar, wandless and half-drunk. Pansy had told him a million times over that only asphodel could do; anything else would cause side-effects that still had yet to be tested, on Muggle or otherwise. And yet the thieving bastard still brought her ground dittany in an asphodel bottle. What Draco did with the money he’d pocketed Pansy never figured out, but she did now it wasn’t going to pay their bills.

Pansy closed her eyes and took another pull of her cigarette while she contemplated the pros and cons of where would be best to hide his body to avoid another stint in Azkaban. The Thames was always a good choice this time of year though one never could be sure where the nymphs would drag a body that beautiful. Then again there was always the squid’s lake at Hogwarts. It had always been a proper choice for disposing of things one never wanted to see again as nothing ever made its way back to the surface there. She was almost certain they’d even lost a Hufflepuff in there her seventh year.

Still undecided, Pansy examined her nails only to find that it had chipped sometime after she’d been lead away to that small, sterile room in the bowels of the Ministry. She frowned, irate that this color hadn’t lasted nearly as long as it had in trials, and reached for her wand instinctively before remembering that it now lay in a locked safe somewhere in Gringotts. Damn Granger to the seventh pit of hell and send Blaise with her. Allowing that self-righteous bureaucrat to force others to act like Muggles surely had to be cruel and unusual torture. 

There really wasn’t anything so useless as a witch without her magic and right now Pansy was the most useless of them all. If she was lucky the whiskey and the smoke would kill her before she had to endure much more than this. And her friends would be no help, all far more interested in keeping their own noses clean and under the radar than to offer a shoulder to cry on. Not for the first time did the thought cross her mind that Pansy should have chosen more loyal friends. Not Gryffindor loyal of course, but perhaps a mid-grade Hufflepuff loyal would be nice. 

Then again anything that wasn’t narcissistic self-preservation would be an upgrade from those two. Despite knowing Blaise and Draco her whole life Pansy was still surprised at how quickly they shoved her to the side to protect their own interests. Blaise’s actions were predictable enough, agreeing with everything Granger had said and asking for mercy, a far cry from his normal bull-dog style of litigation. For all that Blaise had managed today Pansy would have been better defended by a pile of Hippogriff dung.  
And Draco. Dear, lovely, soon to be dead Draco. How quick he was to cry crocodile tears and paint her as the devil herself. His performance was so good that even Pansy began to believe his version of her before remembering that it was he who had suggested selling to Muggles. His overly theatrical act in the court room had only been another ploy to add to his carefully crafted redemption story, merely another layer to gain sympathy from those who believed him to be a boy stuck in a bad situation during the war. It was all so over the top that Pansy wouldn’t be surprised if it was Draco who had turned her into the Ministry.

Her mother always did say she was stupid when it came to boys. Then again her mother said a great many things, most of which only made sense the older she got at which point they became words Pansy lived by.

“Here’s to you Mum, wherever it is you’re rotting,” Pansy muttered as she lifted her glass in a toast and swallowed the entire glass. Her eyes fluttered closed as the burn began to lace its way down to her stomach. She sighed and relished the feeling as long as she could. Rarely did something so insignificant make her feel this alive.

A new glass greeted her when she opened her eyes and Pansy glanced at the bartender curiously. Sana – or Anna? – nodded towards the older gentlemen at the end of the bar and Pansy gave him a grateful smile in thanks. It wasn’t often that she got presents from strange men but she certainly wasn’t one to refuse a gift of liquor. As Granny Malfoy told her at Christmas, Never look a gift horse in the mouth until you’re done beating its dead body. Pansy still wasn’t sure what it meant but she found that it justified enough of her actions to keep repeating it.

“And a shot of firewhiskey,” Pansy called out to the bartender. “Please,” she added after a moment’s hesitation. After all she did have a reputation to protect as a sneering and callous bitch. But as her mother always said, Be polite to those who feed you and be even politer to those who serve you alcohol. Addon set the shot glass in front of her (or perhaps it was Abbott? That sounded correct) and once filled Pansy lifted it in another toast, this time to Abbott, and motioned for another before downing the liquid. In for a penny, in for a pound as her mother always as she tipped the entire bottle of vodka in the holiday punch.

Pansy coughed as the liquid burned a trail of fire down her throat to settle next to the whiskey in a warm comforting puddle somewhere around her navel. Blaise would have praised her newfound ability to stomach firewhisky, a skill she’d always been lacking and one that he’d never forgiven her for. Or at least he would have if he hadn’t been so caught up in his daily ‘business meetings’ with Granger. Apparently his shagging partner now ranked higher than his lifelong friend and confidant losing their most important possession.

But regardless of what Pansy may have thought about Blaise’s choice in women she would have to have a long talk with him about what exactly he was doing with that swot. It certainly wasn’t a good shagging if the way Granger was going on about today was any indication. If anyone was in need of a good lay it had to be that Perfect Prefect Granger. The bint had been wholly in her element at the podium, spouting off statutes and facts as if she were still trying to win house points. Or perhaps that was how she got off these days now that she no longer had any professor to impress. 

Ignoring the pointed stare of the man at the end of the bar, Pansy lit another of the foul cigarettes and debated the idea of hiding her friends’ bodies in the Malfoy dungeons. Surely Aunty Cissa wouldn’t notice a few more bodies. She never was one to clean herself and Pansy knew the dungeons hadn’t been cleaned since the last ministry raid in April. And unless the house elves were released from Granger’s reprogramming camp it was unlikely to ever be cleaned again until Draco came into his inheritance.

Perhaps Gringotts? Word through the grapevine was that they’d finally managed to get another dragon down there and the goblins were becoming a little more lax in their security measures. That idea was quickly scrapped when Pansy realized she could potentially ruin her manicure when she went to remove the bodies from the cart. Granger’s mattress was the next option, but that was scrapped as quickly as it was considered. The idea of going anywhere a pantsless Blaise might once have been was enough to send Pansy screaming towards a nunnery.

The door to the bar opened and a blinding stream of light interrupted her plotting. Pansy squinted into the afternoon sunlight and reached towards her wand holster instinctively. When she grasped only air her vow of revenge was renewed. If it weren’t for that blond rat she never would have been reduced to Muggle status, wandless and drinking in this hole in the wall at 3:50 in the afternoon.

Pansy turned her head away and tried to blink away the spots in her eyes. It wasn’t until Abbott finally got around to speaking with the newcomer that she realized he’d sat only two seats away from her. Honestly, didn’t his mother teach him any better? Some people had no manners when it came to public drinking.

As the spots began to clear from her eyes Pansy brought the cigarette up to her lips for its final drag. She pulled in as much smoke into her lungs and nostrils and turned her head just enough to direct a large cloud of smoke towards the stranger. Her smirk slid in place at the stranger’s cough and she ground out what little remained of the filter.  
Now that she’d secured her space at the bar Pansy began to review the theory of vanishing objects and tried to recall whether that moron Flitwick taught her anything of use. You couldn’t vanish objects over a certain size or density which could range from a standard grade cauldron up to a fully grown hippogriff. That concept was simple enough. But then the question became what would happen if one were to attempt to vanish a human and, more importantly, what the potential punishment was for doing so?

Pansy scoffed and lit another cigarette. Granger would know. Granger always knew those sorts of things. Then again the cow was also the most likely person to know the best place to hide a body. After all that running around the Golden Trio had to have learned something useful. And surely one of them had some sort of skeleton that required a good vanishing every now and then, Pansy would bet what little money she had on it. No one wound as tightly as Granger, or as loosely as Potter, could have gotten that far without some sort of to-the-grave secret.

The feeling of being stared at interrupted Pansy’s speculation on what kind of secret’s Granger must be keeping in that awful hair of hers. A quick glance to the end of the bar showed that the man from earlier had left, leaving the newcomer as the only other patron. Pansy looked towards the stranger and was struck by how familiar he seemed. Then again everyone seemed familiar these days. Perhaps it was the price one paid for having opened a failing shop in the newly renovated Knockturn Alley. Or perhaps he was just another one of Draco’s many past conquests that she’d been forced to kick out when he’d overstayed his welcome. 

Pansy’s irritation flared as she realized the newcomer was still staring at her in flagrant ignorance of proper social convictions. Damn this stranger. Didn’t he realize that it was rude not to stare? And yet he was still staring at her as if her face held the key to Rumholt’s Theory of Unending Commixtion. While normally Pansy was all for being the center of attention, today she only wanted to drink in peace before her sentencing hit the front page of tonight’s papers.

“Parkinson? Is that you?” the stranger finally asked. That certainly got her attention. Normally men didn’t call out her name like that until they were far better acquainted.  
Always one for appearances, Pansy glanced at the mirror behind the bar before plastering a coy smile on her face. She turned on the chair to face the man and brought the cigarette to her lips. His eyes followed, focusing on the red of her mouth like every man before him and Pansy crossed her legs in a motion she knew looked damn good on her. Like everything else in life, Pansy had practiced the move hundreds of times, finally perfecting it in the Zabini drawing room just after she’d turned twelve.

The stranger’s eyes stopped on her calves and she blew out a plume of smoke to redirect his attention. Never one to lose the opportunity, Pansy drank him in. His jacket was slightly too large and had patches on the elbows, obviously old and obviously well-used. Those trousers had certainly seen better days judging from the rips and stains only brewing could cause. And trainers. Merlin help her, here was an adult man wearing trainers in the middle of the day. And Draco wondered why Pansy had long ago given up finding a decent man.

When she’d had her fill of him, Pansy finally spoke. “Yes? Have we met?”

Her words sent the man scowling back to his pint. Pansy rolled her eyes at his behavior; if anyone should be the one offended it should be her. A grown man wearing trainers and drinking beer at this time of day? It was almost as if she was back at Hogwarts.

And yet there was still something about this man, something that nagged her memory relentlessly. They had met before, but where? Those violent freckles recalled simpler times, jokes of dragon pox and angry fists. That violent shade of hair recalled long forgotten feasts and corridors, moments she’d more often forget than remember. But the only family Pansy could think of to dare sport such features this far south had to be a “Weasley?”

The stranger scoffed and Pansy felt as if she could slap him. “Finally got it have you?”

Pansy sneered and swung back towards the counter. He’d been a tosser at school why would now be any different? 

“Can’t say I’m surprised to see you here,” Weasley said with a frown. “Malfoy finally abandon you for another of his fuckboys again?”

Her eyes narrowed and Pansy flirted with adding one Ronald Weasley to the ever expanding to-kill list. After this morning’s hearing, however, she had no wish to return to the courtroom for the murder of a high ranking Ministry official, not to mention one so widely known as him.

“Or are you only here until they come to take you away for a family reunion in Azkaban?” Weasley said with a smirk.

Then again she heard the weather at Azkaban was lovely this sort of year. And it wasn’t as if Ministry officials hadn’t gone missing before. It would merely require a bit more effort on here part but nothing she couldn’t overcome. And four bodies were just as easy to hide as three. As Gran always said, never beat the birds out of the bush when you can beat a dead horse. Then again Gran was always one to add arsenic to the Christmas chutney.

For once Pansy decided on taking the high road and not poison someone for speaking ill of her family. Besides, if she played her cards now he’d know he’d hit home and no one liked a victorious Weasel. 

“Not since he and Potter began shagging like rabbits,” Pansy said in a casual tone. 

Weasley began to choke on his lager and somehow managed to spill half the pint on himself in his surprise. He spun around to face her, still sputtering and dripping everywhere. As he tried to find something intelligent to say Pansy took another sip of her whiskey. It would probably take him a while.

Though it was notable that Potter would keep his torrid love affair secret, especially with how thin the walls at the apartment were. Circe only knew how many times Pansy had woken up only to curse the both of them for not casting the proper silencing charms. That did beg the question of whether Granger knew, however. If not it wouldn’t take long before Weasley’s mouth sprung another leak. It always did work faster than his brain.

But surely they’d have noticed it by now. Even the Hufflepuffs had noticed how Potter lusted after Draco in their final years of Hogwarts. Pansy would have even called it stalking if Draco hadn’t encouraged it. Then again Granger had been far too concerned with Weasley and that bland Gryffindor girl while Weasley had been too concerned with showing off his testosterone to everyone to notice.

“Surprised Weasley? I’d have thought Potter would have told his best friend by now. Certainly my best friend told me,” she said when he’d finally calmed down. Somehow that made Weasley scowl deeper and Pansy began to fear for the skin on his face. She watched as he grabbed a handful of napkins from behind the bar to try and mop up the beer he’d split.

“Like you’re one to trust? Next you’ll be telling me you haven’t done anything horrible today. Oh wait, you have,” he said with a smirk. 

Pansy resisted the urge to roll her eyes and lit another cigarette instead. If this was the kind of wit he was capable of she would have to send a condolence card to Potter for having to deal with the idiot for so long. 

“And your insults are still as striking as ever. Whatever shall I do to keep from crying into my pillow tonight?” 

Weasley sneered at her but stayed quiet. He’d run out of napkins by now, the beer still dripping onto the floor. It wasn’t long before Abbot came by with a bar towel and shooed him from the mess so that she could have space to mop up what she could and vanish the rest with a well-practiced wave of her wand. Pansy’s hand itched as she watched the simple spell. It hadn’t even been four hours since her wand, a gorgeous, thirteen and three-quarter inch cherry wood, inlaid with Veela hair and passed down in her family for centuries, had been taken from her and Pansy was already going through severe withdrawals. Six months without it would surely be the death of her.

Abbot set down a new pint in front of Weasley on the now clean counter and waved off his efforts to pay for the new glass. Pansy glared at the both of them in disgust. Of course he’d get free drinks for something long since passed while she was still pointed out as the woman who would turn over Harry Potter to save herself. Life was cruel sometimes, particularly to the beautiful and darkly tragic.

Pansy turned away from the chatting pair and drank deeply, trying to find some comfort at the bottom of the glass. The cinnamon gold began to fill her and the giddiness that always accompanied it began to creep up on her. It appeared Weasley was far too ready to catch up with his old school chums and Pansy pouted at losing this afternoon’s entertainment. It wasn’t until Abbott had moved away towards the back of the bar that Pansy began to rack her now muddled mind for something to raise Weasley’s ire. To her frustration Granger was the only thing she hadn’t touched upon yet, but Pansy was far too bored with life in general to not speak up.

“I’m surprised Miss Perfect let her favorite troll out of its cage for the evening,” she said in an airy tone. “I thought one was supposed to kept trolls away from sunlight. Or has she finally upgraded to something a little less revolting these days?” Pansy asked. She sent another cloud of smoke in Weasley’s direction when he didn’t respond.

Weasley only frowned and waved the smoke away. “Fuck should I know. I’m not her bloody keeper.”

Pansy gave a small hum at that. “I suppose not. Her ‘business meetings’ do seem to take up quite a bit of her time. Especially when they involve Blaise. Do you think they seem rather,” she paused for effect, “close lately?”

Weasley only snorted and took another pull off his pint. “Expect they were. They’ve been shagging for ages.”

She paused. So he knew about Granger bedding Blaise, but Potter was strangely silent about his dalliances with Draco. How absolutely delicious. 

Yet she most certainly couldn’t play all of that out at once. What would she do if she were to run into him again? That left ever fewer topics to touch upon; she doubted the goody-two-shoes would approve of her plotting murder. He always was too far on the right side of things for her taste. That only left the polite, direct, and boring route to things. Though as Uncle Vlad always said before he went out on Boxing Day, the direct route is the quickest way to a man’s heart. Otherwise you may hit a rib or two on your way in and nick your best blade.

“Tell me, then, what has life been like for the most famous Weasley in London? Been popping out red-headed brats and chasing after ‘dark wizards’ still?” Pansy asked, offsetting her sarcasm with the ‘air-quotes’ she’d learned from her Muggle buyers. Though she despised all things Muggle this effective method for showing disinterest caught her attention, though perhaps using them on the Auror’s after she’d been arrested had been an unwise decision.

Truthfully Pansy cared little for how perfect the Goldon-Trio’s lives were going. She’d learned far more than she’d ever cared to from Blaise gushing about Granger being on the fast track to Minister of Magic while Potter’s attempts at small talk only made her seethe in jealousy. Yet Pansy was far more loathe to give up this opportunity for a bit of entertainment to take her mind off her loss than she was of lowering herself to the practice of ‘catching up’. 

Instead of grabbing hold of the opportunity to brag Weasley only tilted his head and stared at her. Pansy let him look while she took out another of Draco’s foul-tasting cigarettes.  
“What are you playing at Parkinson?” Weasley asked after a moment.

“Playing at?” Pansy paused in lighting a match and looked at him. No one had ever accused her of playing at anything. “Darling, I may be willing to do almost anything under the sun but playing at it not something a Parkinson does. That would imply I don’t know what I’m doing. All I’m trying to do is catch up with an old school mate,” she said with a flick of her wrist to put the match out.

Weasley looked incredulous, clearly not buying her innocent act. “And when have we ever been mates? Last I checked you were happy to throw me and Harry under. I can’t even think of a time when you tried to be nice to anyone.”

Pansy tutted and waved at his suspicions as easily as he’d waved away her smoke. “Come now darling, you give me far too much credit. That was a mere folly of my youth. You of all people should know how impressionable scared children can be. Especially when they’ve death knocking at their bedroom door,” she said as she drained her glass. Pansy ignored his pointed stare as she motioned to Abbott for another.

“How many of those have you had?” he asked.

“Not nearly enough darling. Especially after what your little friend did today.” A sneer marred her face as Pansy was reminded of why she was here in the first place.

Weasley snorted and started to finish off his own drink. “From what I hear you bloody well deserve it. If it were me I’d have thrown you into Azkaban myself and thrown the key down a well.”

Pansy turned to face him, offended at his implication that her actions rose to the level of a common murderer. “I will have you know that I was doing a public service. If you’d have seen those Muggles you’d agree and likely nominate me for a medal. They made Millie look as if she belonged on the cover of Wizard’s Weekly.” Weasley grinned into the dregs of his lager at that. “Besides you are far too biased to ever preside over my trial. You’ve always been a soft touch, especially when it comes to Muggles. Granger did well in getting those claws of hers into you.”

Weasley rolled his eyes and motioned at Abbott for another pint. “Yes, because the only reason I’d care about anything is for a bird. Not like I want the world to be better or anything.”

“Well, yes,” Pansy said, blinking at his naivety. She was struck that anyone could think otherwise. “If you care about someone you give them the best opportunity to put a knife in your back. Besides, I’m sure they can take care of themselves.”

He looked at her for a moment before drinking deeply from his new pint. “And if they can’t? Do you always need a reason to stick your neck out for them?”

“Obviously. Otherwise someone else will come along to cut your head off. Besides, even if you do have a reason, why care at all? You’re the only one who will get hurt in the end,” she said softly. Pansy swallowed hard as long banished memories began to play at the edges of her mind and she fought to keep them at bay.

Her words drew a look of pity from Weasley and she quashed the urge to throw the rest of her drink into his face. Who was he to pity her? Surely she’d been through enough to avoid such emotions from strangers let alone old enemies. Besides, waste not, want not as Aunt Vi always said after teaching a young Pansy a new trick for brewing with old ingredients. 

Half-buried memories flashed across her mind and Pansy could smell Vi’s perfume in the air. The image of Aunt Vi pouring amortentia into her husband’s morning tea played on repeat until the image was seared on her brain. Weasley’s voice was soft enough to cause the image to ripple into a morbid mix of past and present realities that Pansy had long ago learned to escape from.

“Because they’re people too, with lives just as valuable and complex as yours or mine. Because there’s something worth more than yourself in the world. Because if we don’t do anything no one else will. Or have you always been so self-centered to think only of being pretty, wearing nice clothes, and being above it all is the only way to live?”

Pansy stilled at his words. He wasn’t the first to level that accusation at her nor would he be the last. That didn’t keep his words from stinging, however. 

“Of course not. I’m not nearly that shallow,” she said when she finally trusted her voice not to shake. Pansy arched an eyebrow and flicked off the steadily growing ash from her cigarette. “I’d be quite remiss if I forgot the shoes and being far more refined than the general public. But it is nice to hear that you think I’m pretty,” she said with a flutter of her eyelashes. With any luck that would be enough to throw him from the road he was dangerously close to turning down.

Weasley only scowled at her and turned away, seemingly disgusted by her flippancy. Under normal circumstances Pansy would have been ecstatic to turn back to her own drink and stew in a mutual silent hatred. The whiskey in her veins and the fire nipping at her cheeks turned her self-pity into a gnawing anger at his disgust and pity. She’d been stared at, whispered about, and publicly scorned by far too many people in the last ten years to let him go about with that superior sense of virtue he’d always had. Pansy was tired of being branded by her father’s actions and her own desperate attempt to save more lives from Lord You-Know-Who on that bloody day ten years ago. She may have been a Death Eater’s daughter, yet it was her decision to give voice to what they’d all been thinking that had become her own personal dark mark that had yet to be erased by the passage of time.

Or perhaps it was just some sick, twisted desire to shatter his world of sunshine and roses, a world where everyone did right just because. That was a world she’d never had a chance to enjoy or even dream about. But at the very least she could leave her own dark mark upon his twisted belief that the world was worth saving. That she was worth saving. Because it was beliefs like his that had gotten people killed and tortured. He’d never lived what she had and yet it was judgement like his that had sharpened her nails and cut her teeth into what they were today.

“Unlike you, Weasley, I was never shown the good in anyone,” she hissed. “The idea that there were those who weren’t worth my time, weren’t worth my notice was beaten into me at an early age. Unlike you I never had a loving, supportive family. Any care or support they might have had was given to a megalomanic and they raised their children to do the same. I shared a dormitory with girls who had been raised in the same fashion, girls who were feed lies and half-truths since birth that turned all colors to grey. Our eyes were forced open when we were nothing but babes in the cradle staring at the monsters who dressed themselves up as men. We learned that the ones to fear were our mothers, our fathers, our aunts and uncles, our friends, and our lovers. It was never our enemies we feared.”

Pansy blinked back the tears of anger and fear and frustration that rose suddenly at her words. Though she might be unable to slow the words tumbling from her mouth she refused to let the demons of her past ruin the perfectly applied mask made of mascara and eyeliner and rouge that Pansy wore as armor every day. The glass felt cold in her hand, as cold as she’d felt all her life, and she gripped it hard to stay tethered to reality amidst the storm of rising memories.

“You never had to spend every night at home shaking with fear, your sisters hidden under your bed while you raised a sleepless and trembling wand against a locked door. You never had to guard your mind, your body, your soul against your father’s guests while terrified curses ghosted across your lips at your father for inviting those beasts into your home. Your mother never drank herself to death because she failed to protect her children from her husband, from his plans of grandeur and supremacy. You were never told that you were nothing more than a pawn, a piece who’s only worth lie in the curve of your face, the shape of your hips, the purity between your thighs. It wasn’t you who spent sleepless nights listing friends and family you would one day have to raise your wand against or be killed. It wasn’t you who had to list the friends and family you’d kill without a moment’s thought. It wasn’t you –“

Pansy jumped as the glass suddenly shattered in her hand, the shards of glass deep in her skin finally damming the flow of words from her mouth. Weasley was once again staring at her shamelessly, mouth and eyes wide open, but Pansy didn’t have a damn left to give about what he or that Abbott woman thought of her, she only wished that he wouldn’t look at her with pity and hatred in his eyes. She was so tired of all the hatred she received, all those poorly hidden looks of scorn. It wasn’t her fault that she bore the sin of bearing the name of a despised Death Eater.

But mostly Pansy was just tired of the scornful hatred she saw in the mirror every day.

The ruby beads grew, slowly at first, and traced illegible patterns down her hand, still cradled around the memory of the glass. Abbott was the first one to react and she ran around the bar to Pansy, shards of glass and ice vanishing before her. Pansy stayed still as the bartender gently pulled the glass deep in her hand and watched numbly as the skin began to stitch itself up neatly. A flash of jealousy came as quickly as it went. Skin could be so easily stitched together again and yet Pansy’s soul would forever lay shattered on that carpet years ago.

As Abbott began to mop up what little remained on the bar Pansy reached towards the cigarette case one last time, her hand never wavering. She lit her last match and watched with dull eyes as Abbott made her way towards the back of the bar for a pain potion. Pansy waited until the door swung shut after her before continuing in a soft voice.

“I’ve always envied you, you know. You were one of the lucky few whose path was always open to you. You could make any decision you wanted and your family would still love  
you despite it. The rest of us were not so lucky. We were demonized and excluded by you but that only drove us closer to what our parents wanted us to become. You were the ones who taught us that we could only trust each other; trusting you would give us scars that ran deeper than any knife ever could. And we learned how to tread carefully, trusting no one and never saying what it was we really thought. Subtle meaning was woven into our words to avoid the wrong sort of attention and at least give us the cloak of misdirection. And every lesson we were taught reinforced what we’d learned from birth: if you don’t use them, they’ll use up every inch of yourself,” Pansy said, the bitterness rolling off her tongue as easily as rain off satin.

With one final pull off the cigarette she threw down enough coins onto the counter to pay for the alcohol and the shattered glass. Weasley was still staring at her but now his expression was closed and Pansy could not even pretend to know what he was thinking behind those blue chips of ice. Her gaze hardened to flint as she realized she’d played the game and lost for the first time, her life now laid in shards on the floor for Weasley to pick up at his leisure.

Pansy smirked as she slid off the stool and dragged her purse up her arm. Just because he’d won didn’t mean she had to be a sore loser. And as her older sister Lila had warned, Always keep them guessing. That way they’re less likely to find the real person behind the mask. She took a few steps past him towards the door before spinning suddenly on her heel as if a thought had just struck her. 

“But despite all of that I will always have the one thing you and your friends never will,” she told him in a light tone.

“What, what’s that?” Weasley managed to stutter through his dry mouth.

Pansy lifted a perfectly manicured eyebrow and dragged her eyes down his form one last time. “Good taste. And perhaps if you stop by perhaps we can get you out of those clothes and into something a bit more comfortable? I always did think you’d look better without them” she purred. 

Weasley flushed crimson, the pity in his eyes chased away by something she was much more familiar with. He was the first to look away and Pansy smirked, happy to be back on more familiar ground. When he didn’t look back at her Pansy turned on her heal and headed towards the door to face the real world with a newfound resilience. Despite spilling years of therapy inducing trauma in front of a sworn-childhood enemy, Pansy felt far lighter than she had in years. Let Weasley sort through her problems. Perhaps he’d be able to find the closure she was still looking for. 

\---

Two months into her sentencing Pansy had all but forgotten about the run in with the golden weasel. Once her sentencing hit the front page of the Daily Prophet business increased tenfold overnight thanks to Rita Skeeter’s rave reviews of the all-weather mascara in her ‘Do’s and Brew’s’ column. Ever since then Pansy had a hard enough time brewing enough to keep the ever growing orders down to a dull roar. 

Yet despite the boom in sales the little shop was dead during the day, a fact Pansy was grateful for as it gave her far more time to focus on brewing rather than idle chit-chat with browsing customers. The fact was that no witch or wizard worth their salt dared to be seen entering such a notorious shop on the off chance the neighbors might see. But that didn’t keep her ‘Brew Me Brunette,’ ‘Charm Me Curly,’ or ‘Spell Me Straight’ potions from flying off the shelves into the waiting mail-order boxes. Pansy had been inundated with hundreds of orders in the three short weeks before the Winter Solstace and she’d had to purchase two more owls just to cover the holiday season alone.

This week, however, was a far cry from the hectic pace just a month earlier. Set between the oasis of New Year’s and Valentine’s Day this week had brought nothing but boredom and rainy weather, neither of which agreed with Pansy’s meticulous hairstyle. Monday wasn’t so bad, there were a few mail-orders for an upcoming Harpy photo shoot but by Tuesday Pansy had run out of things to do. She’d started out by organizing potions ingredients and reordering low supplies, then moved on to rearranging all of her stock in the store to highlight which products worked best together on the off chance someone did happen to come in to ask for directions. By Wednesday she’d caught up on all mail orders, drafted her summer catalogue, and, after much debate, had finally gotten around to scrubbing the entire shop with soap and water like a common Muggle. And yesterday she’d even managed to balance her books down to the last sickle and had sent off payment authorization to Gringotts for what little taxes she owed last quarter.

The only thing on today’s to-do list was to read through the stack of paper’s Blaise had sent over and stare out into the gloomy alley and pray that she’d fall asleep before she died of boredom. The first had gone badly, her eyes crossing before she’d managed to get past three paragraphs and the second was far too dull to keep her attention for long. So it wasn’t long before Pansy had picked up yesterday’s World Jumble, determined to figure out exactly what Circe muttered to Merlin outside of the Hippogriff stables.

Pansy had decided early on in life that she thoroughly despised Word Jumbles; they were quite difficult and she was never one for failure especiallyif it came at the expense of a confused set of letters. Draco had only scoffed when she’d brought the paper home last night and she’d just barely saved it from a well-placed incineration spell when he hadn’t been able to solve it in five minutes. Yesterday she hadn't done much better, only managing three out of the five sets: ‘Newt’s Eye,’ ‘Troll Fungus,’ and strangely enough, ‘Telephone.’ Today she’d managed ‘Wolf’s Bane’ but she was still frustratingly missing the last one. 

Ordinarily Pansy would have already used the paper for kindling but she’d been so bored this morning she would have gladly filed Snape’s detention slips for Hogwart’s archives. Besides, idle hands lead to Gryffindor deeds, especially on rainy days when Cousin Mimi was babysitting Pansy and her sisters. Though Pansy had always suspected it was more of a conversation filler than a real saying she hadn’t been the least bit surprised when Mimi had gone on to marry a Gryffindor the next year. What was a surprise was when he’d turned up dead somewhere in the south of France, face-down in his split pea soup on their honeymoon rather than in the koi pond.

And thus it was Mimi’s sage advice that had lead a scowling Pansy to stare at the paper and nibble at the end of a pen in frustration. So when the shop bell finally rang out for the first time in weeks the Word Jumble was quickly forgotten. A quick glance in the mirror showed her hair still perfectly coiffed, eyeliner and lipstick still as immaculate as when she’d put them on this morning. Pansy strode towards the front of the shop, eager at the prospect of speaking with someone who wasn’t Draco or Potter for the first time in weeks. When she saw who it was, however, she stopped short and sneered.

“Come to play with convicted felons again Weasley? What will the neighbors think?”

“Shut it Parkinson or I’ll go back to Malkin’s. They actually like me there and are just as good as your shop,” he shot back as he dripped water onto her clean floors. 

Pansy sniffed. He really did know how to hurt a girl. “Substandard products at beast and you’re more likely to get a rash than a tan. Besides, I doubt you’ll be able to find a potion strong enough to put out that horrible shade of red you call hair. Now be a dear and dry yourself off before you flood me.”

Weasley scowled at her but thankfully muttered a drying spell. Whether out of spite or ineptitude (Pansy’s money was on the latter) he missed the bottom half of his trousers and began dripping about her shop as he looked about. He began to pick up products at random, shaking bottle and uncorking them to peer inside only to haphazardly set them back on the shelf and move onto the next. Pansy frowned and grabbed a mop to follow behind him, righting the bottles he’d upended and tutting at the mess he left behind. 

From his attitude Pansy doubted it was a social call. He never did have much in the way of manners to begin with though. She glared at his hunched shoulders, far broader than Draco or Blaise’s, and wracked her brain for what ‘w l c i t k i f’ could possibly be. If only he’d leave then she might have a chance to find out why the clumsy hippogriff wasn’t invited to the ball before afternoon tea. With Weasley skulking about in here it would take at least another three weeks just to recover from the IQ drop he brought along with him.

It wasn’t until she caught him staring at her in the mirror that Pansy finally realized the gift that had been dropped in her lap. Hippogriffs be damned; if anything could cure her boredom it was teasing the already irate Weasel. She smiled at him coquettishly and gave a low chuckle when he blushed and looked away. He shifted and Pansy took the opportunity to brush past him in the close aisle, far enough to still be professional but close enough to brush against his robes. 

“Or perhaps you’ve finally come by to take me up on my offer?” she asked.

Weasley paused a moment, the turquoise bottle in his hand still uncorked, and she waited for him to catch her meaning. It wasn’t until Pansy gave him a wink that his ears turned a violent crimson and it was apparent he’d known exactly what she’d meant. He slammed the bottle back onto the shelf, still uncorked, and stalked into the next aisle to escape her. If Pansy were a betting woman she’d have said Weasley was self-conscious around her. 

Pansy followed him into the next aisle and he glared at her. “Fuck off Parkinson. The only reason I’ve come round here is to find some muck you’ve been bottling up. Apparently Gin and Hermione got wind of it and you’re ignoring their owls,” he growled out. 

He shifted so that he was facing the shelves and Pansy took a moment to trace the curves of his face. The weasel really wasn’t all that bad too look at when one thought about it. Handsome enough in a homey way and certainly tall enough for a woman of her stature to wear heels around without damaging his ego. Those clothes would certainly have to go, however, though it would be more than an exercise in fashion to find out what he kept hidden underneath those too-large robes of his.

Pansy gave him a wink and picked up a turquoise and pink bottle from the shelf. “You’ll have to be more specific than that, darling. I’ve been selling quite a bit of ‘muck’ here lately. But may I suggest this for your dear sister?” 

He held out his hand and Pansy pressed the bottle into it, taking care to make sure her hand lingered over his. To his credit, Weasley paid her flirtatious actions no attention. He squinted at the bottle and turned it over before uncorking it and taking a cautious sniff of it. 

“S’it do?” he asked in a gruff tone.

Pansy smirked. “Guaranteed to turn any shade of hair brilliant platinum for at least a week, money back guaranteed. I’ve heard a rumor that Potter’s into blonde’s these days,” she said airily, still unable to resist the cheap shot after all these years. 

Weasley scowled and slammed the bottle back on the shelf, whatever positive feelings he may have had gone in an instance. The vials rattled together and Pansy darted her hands out to steady them before she lost a quarter of her stock to his overly sensitive temper. “Careful Weasley, I doubt you could afford that bottle let alone what’s on this shelf. So I suggest you think before going about in here like a bull in a china shop. Wouldn’t want to ask Potter to cover for your anger issues again now would we?” she hissed in irritation. Such beautiful craftsmanship in front of him and he had no idea what had gone into it.

“Then just sell me the damn hair potion that straightens something and I’ll be on my bloody way out of this damn shop and away from you,” he snarled back.

Pansy narrowed her eyes at his lack of manners. If only she still had her wand. He would have been banished from her store the minute he’d set foot in it. But they both knew she could do nothing to him in the meantime. Being wandless didn’t mean she was out of options though. She did still have something he wanted.

“I’m afraid that potion has been sold out since after New Year’s. The waiting list is as long as your temper is short and you just don’t qualify for VIP treatment,” she told him. Seeing his frown deepen and those lines around his mouth reappear gave her a small jolt of pleasure she’d been devoid of since she’d burned the biscuits last week. “Perhaps there is a way,” Pansy said, trailing off and glancing towards the back of the shop.

Weasley followed her gaze only to find himself staring back in the mirror. Pansy could almost feel the irritation coming off of him and she waited until he finally swallowed enough of his pride. “Perhaps what?” he finally ground out. 

She bit her lip to keep from laughing. “Perhaps we can come to some sort of arrangement?” Pansy lifted her eyebrow and waited for him to agree. No doubt he was imagining all sorts of scandalous scenarios, carrying bodies, cursing innocent bystanders, stealing candy from first-year Hufflepuffs. She only smiled at him and waited for him to take the bait. If she’d known he was this fun to play with maybe she wouldn’t have been such a cow at school.

“Well?” she asked. When he still refused to answer Pansy sighed and walked to the back of the shop. She’d set the bait, now all she needed was for him to take the hook. Pansy silently pulled out her book of orders from under the counter and opened it to a random page. As predicted Weasley followed her and his eyes tracked her blood red nails as they danced down the list of names and product numbers. It wasn’t until she finally pulled out her Word Jumble that he finally spoke.

“I won’t get thrown into Azkaban for you. I don’t clean out basements or dungeons. And no dishes or windows.” He paused before added, “And don’t try to make me carry one of your purses or try to pull me into your petty politics.”

Pansy raised an eyebrow skeptically and set down the paper. “Alliteration, how charming. Perhaps you did manage to pick up something from Granger.” Weasley only rolled his eyes but wisely kept his mouth shut. “Besides, I know better than to ever ask you to do something that might tarnish that sterling reputation of yours. All I’m asking is for you to put in a good word or two with the powers that be. I’ve learned my lesson not to play with Muggles and I promise to be a good girl from here on out.” She drew an ‘X’ over her heart and Weasley scoffed. “Well, not a good girl everywhere. Where’s the fun in that?”

Weasley snorted. He crossed his arms and leaned against the counter as he gave her a searching look. “Despite what you may have heard, any pull at the Ministry I might have once was thrown to hell last month ago.”

Intrigued, Pansy leaned against the counter. It had been a while since she’d heard of a nice scandal. “Do tell.”

Weasley blushed and looked away as he cleared his throat. “Might have had something to do with telling Dawlish where he could shove his bloody and twisted version of justice.” 

If composure hadn’t been beaten into her at an early age Pansy’s jaw might have dropped. Weasley, fired from his dream job? That was one for the front pages. Pansy had learned enough from Potter to know that Dawlish had been Weasley’s mentor when he’d first begun as an Unspeakable and they were still close enough that Dawlish was seen as another father figure. So for Weasley to have blown up at him it must have been bad.

Pansy leaned onto the counter towards him, eager for more information. “Details Weasley, details. Did they kick you out for refusing to look the other way on triplicate forms? Or was it their failure to properly shred confidential papers? Did they strip your memories before or after you cleaned out your desk?” she asked eagerly. 

Weasley coughed and pointedly looked away from her. Pansy glanced down to find that her already low cut top had pulled down far enough to put her red lace bra on display. “They’re breasts Weasley. Don’t act as if you’ve never seen a pair of breasts before. Now tell me what happened.”

To Pansy’s disappointment he only turned his back to her. “The potion, Parkinson. What do I have to do to get bumped up on your damn list that doesn’t involve Ministry secrets?”

Pansy pouted at his back. Here she was trying to get details on the juiciest piece of Ministry gossip in over a year and he was too offended by the sight of breasts to tell her. She was beginning to think Granger might have had the right idea about him. “I told you Weasley. Put in a good word at the Ministry for me so I can get my wand back. Besides, what would all these high ranking officials think if they were bumped down for someone I wasn’t even schoolmates with? Oh, and look. Mrs. Dawlish is the first on the list for the next batch.”

Even with his back turned Pansy could see the muscles tense in Weasley’s jaw. “I’ll talk to Hermione, but no promises.”

“Then you tell me where you brother gets his supply of dragon heartstrings and unicorn bile and we have a deal,” she added. Granger would be absolutely no help and at least this way she’d be able to find another dealer. Pansy had been after Borgin for weeks to reduce his prices down to a reasonable level but when he found out how well she had been doing the codgy old bastard refused to yield. And her pathetic attempts at corporate espionage had failed; she still couldn’t figure out where the earless twit of a fool got his supply.

He spun around, ready to argue and Pansy cut him off. “Talking to Granger does me no good. She’d rather snap my wand in half than help me and we both know it.”

Weasley sighed and leaned against the counter to weigh his options, his fingers drumming an irregular beat. Pansy adjusted her top and resisted the urge to slam her receipt book down on his fingers. After a minute he agreed. “But not a word to anyone, especially not George or Ang. He’ll kill the both of us if he finds out. Quill?” 

Pansy handed him the one she’d been using earlier and he took the paper with the Word Jumble from her. He scribbled a name and an address in the corner in large, childlike letters before handing it back to her. She squinted at the letters and confirmed the name and address before re-writing the information in her ledger. Pansy gave him a coy smile and popped into the back room for the potions. When she came out she found Weasley staring at the paper, the quill in his hand, and she resisted the urge to roll her eyes. If she hadn’t been able to figure it out in two days he really had no chance.

After she’d finished wrapping the potions Pansy handed him two pieces of paper. “Make sure both your sister and Granger read the entire page before using the potions. If they don’t I am not responsible for any hair growth, loss, or change that may occur. And tell Granger that if she tampers with the potion in any way the anti-theft charms on it will backfire on her and the results will not be pretty,” she instructed. 

Weasley took the papers from her and began to dig in his robe pocket to pay her. Pansy paused a moment and pursued her lips while she waited. “Actually, go ahead and encourage her to try and figure out what I’ve used in it. The remaining three months will just fly by if I knew she was covered in spots that only I can remove.”

He rolled his eyes at her childishness and set down a stack of coins on the counter in front of her. “It won’t kill you to be nice every now and then. People might begin to like you if you didn’t act like such a callous bitch all the time.”

Pansy gave him the most innocent face she could muster as she gathered up the coins and handed him his change. “But I rather like being a callous bitch. Much more fun that way.” 

Weasley only sighed and shook his head. She watched as her only customer in a week began to make his way towards the front of the shop. It wasn’t until he was about to step out into the street that Pansy realized she hadn’t yet had a parting shot.

“Darling?” she called out. Weasley paused inside the store, his hand still on the handle. “My offer still stands, you know. I’m chomping at the bit to get you out of those clothes. I just know they’ll look even better on my bedroom floor.”

Weasley scowled. The sound of the door slamming was quickly followed by her peals of laughter. He really was quite easy to rile up and just the thing she needed on this dreary Friday afternoon. If he kept this up Pansy might even look forward to seeing him again. 

It wasn’t until later that night, after she’d run a few errands and had an early supper, that Pansy finally made her way back to the flat. Draco finally left the bathroom at nine for his date with Potter and she’d taken the opportunity to draw up a hot bath. Pansy settled in for a long soak and perched her wine glass on the edge of the tube, the wireless crooning old love songs in the background. She’d brought the World Jumble along with her mostly on the off chance that it might slip from her hands and be ruined by the bathwater and thereby end the torture of being unable to finish it.

To her surprise large, stilted letters had been placed in the last jumble of words and ‘Flitwick’ stared back at her. She glanced to the final puzzle and found that the red-headed ape had managed to finally figure out that the hippogriff hadn’t been invited to the ball because he had ‘two left feet.’ Perhaps it was time to give Weasley another look after all.


	2. Chapter 2

Pansy sighed and carefully leaned against the wall. She’d yet to figure out how Blaise had managed to convince her to come to his so-called ‘Valentine’s Day Ball’ but she’d be damned if she left that ruin the antique black lace rouging on her dress. It was already eight-thirty and she’d yet to see anything resembling dinner or a ball let alone the marshmallows and almond ice cream waiting for her back at home. Now if Draco could only finish schmoozing his way back into high society she could get back to her pint of Fortescue’s ‘Brews ‘N Chews’ and back to bed.

Then again, if this is who Blaise stooped low enough to invite Pansy would be waiting on Draco for a long time. There were very few witches or wizards who would have dared to show their faces at a Zabini affair before the war but not they were all tripping over one another to make the ‘Best Dressed’ lists and catch the eyes of the ‘Saviors of the Wizarding World.’ Sickening really how sycophantic they all were. The entire ballroom was bursting with them, men and women whose names now graced the society pages and the Ministry employee records, each one desperate to see what their peers were wearing and more importantly be seen by their peers.

As she stood idly along the wall, Pansy watched as the women ignored her and the men shot her scandalous glances when their dates weren’t looking. She briefly wondered what would be said among the crowd if she walked up to one of them and began to act like they were old friends. Perhaps Mrs. Selwyn, her mother’s old classmate. Pansy could ask how Scamander the poodle was doing and whether she should bring him a dog treat when she came for tea next week. That would surely cause a scandal but it might be worth it for some entertainment in this boring room.

The really funny thing about this whole affair was that the same witches and wizards who were tripping over themselves to be Blaise’s next best friend were the same ones who gladly saw his family leave for Italy and called them cowards for not choosing a side. They were the same ones who watched gleefully as the news of her father’s suicide hit the newspapers and cackled as the nightly edition of the Prophet listed all of the assets the Ministry had confiscated from her family and Draco’s in the name of ‘War Reparations.’ And yet the very same people had begun to owl Pansy at six this morning, each begging her to floo by to make them the prettiest of the ball. Pansy had gone, the money was far too good and there were her father’s debts still to pay, and she’d have missed the ball herself if it weren’t for Draco’s howler reminding her that she was already thirty minutes late to help set up. Now the very same witches were ignoring her just as they would ignore one’s bad breath in polite company. 

While Pansy wasn’t bitter about losing her family home, there were some of Aunt Ida’s old paintings she’d have liked to keep but now that was more of a matter of finding some Ministry storage official to quietly bribe. She’d never been partial to that home or the memories that went along with it, but her sisters were a far different story. They were still pining ten years later, more out of a slighted sense of honor and an inflated sense of greed especially as both had fled to France and hadn’t come back once since then. They’d even gone so far as to try to begin a campaign to restore their property but without Pansy’s support back in England it hadn’t gone very far. 

The thought of her sisters’ inane sense of familial honor brought a bitter taste to her mouth, one that Pansy had to wash out with the rest of her champagne. A passing waiter stopped long enough to allow her to trade out her empty glass for a plate of hors d’oeuvres and even Pansy had to admit Granger had excellent taste. 

Still bored, Pansy scanned the room once more. Draco’s smirk caught her eye from the dance floor and she scowled back at him. Pansy was still far too irritated that they’d arrived half an hour before they were supposed to just so that he could chase after his latest boy-toy. He’d insisted that they arrive before seven to help with any last minute changes but even Granger hadn’t been fooled by his sudden altruism. Draco never did anything unless he stood to gain something from it and tonight the only angle that was on his mind was Potter. The pair hadn’t spoken for a week now and Pansy knew it had to be because Draco had done something so embarrassingly stupid that even he refused to talk about it. Potter hadn’t even shown up until half past eight and since then he’d been circling the room to avoid Draco in a strange game of cat and mouse. 

Pansy’s game of seeing how many non-verbal spells she could aim at Draco with a wand was interrupted by a small, polite cough at her elbow. With her luck tonight it would be another sycophantic idiot trying to con her into selling her ‘Color Me Charmed’ line of eye-shadows for a tenth of what she was making now. She sent another three useless spells towards Draco before she turned, only to find little Ms. Perfect at her side. 

Granger cleared her throat once more and Pansy bit her lip to keep from rolling her eyes at the nervous witch. She’d promised to be civil but requiring her to actually interact with the cow was toeing the line.

“Pansy, I just wanted to thank you for coming tonight. Blaise hoped you could make it but he wasn’t sure how comfortable you’d be tonight after everything that’s happened lately,” Granger said as she fiddled with the stem of her water glass.

What on earth had that blathering idiot said about her now? Obviously nothing flattering if Granger had gotten ideas like that. Realizing a moment too late that a response was expected, Pansy gave the witch a deprecating smile and turned back to the crowd. With any luck Granger would get the hint and move along quickly. Then Pansy could return to plotting new ways to accidentally sprain Draco’s ankle for an excuse to leave early.

“We’re both quite happy you made it tonight, actually. For the announcement, I mean. Not that it isn’t lovely having you here, it’s just your support is really appreciated,” Granger continued in a rushed voice. Pansy suppressed a curse and grabbed another flute of champagne from a passing waiter. “It means the world to Blaise that you and Mal, you and Draco are here tonight. It really would have been a shame if you’d missed it, so thank you for coming, really.”

“Pleasure,” Pansy replied in a flat-tone. The well-practiced lie slide easily enough from between her teeth and neither witch spoke for a few minutes.

As the silence dragged on the tension between the two grew thick enough that Pansy began to wonder if she could bottle it up and substitute it for Dementor’s tears. The two felt oddly similar despite the bright red and pink decorations surrounding them. As the silence dragged on, Pansy found that Blaise was watching the two of them from across the room and he gave them both a pointed look. She raised an eyebrow and he pursed his lips at her. Bloody traitor. Apparently he was the daft git who had encouraged the bint to seek her out. Just because Blaise wanted to marry the witch didn’t mean that Pansy had to like her.

When Pansy stayed still Blaise motioned to his soon-to-be-announced fiancé and mouthed something unintelligible at Granger. Free legal counsel surely wasn’t worth the torture of Granger’s company regardless of how tenacious Blaise was. Now Pansy would have to deal with the simpering idiot for however short the marriage lasted, but with any luck the whole thing would blow over before May Day and they could all go their separate ways. Blaise raised his eyebrows at Pansy before turning his back to speak with the Sr. Mr. Nott. Apparently the idiot planned on keeping this one around far longer than May Day.

Never one to willingly break a promise, Pansy cleared her throat and turned to the fidgeting witch beside her. “Yes, well. Mending bridges, the past is the past, bygones and all that rubbish,” she managed to ground out with barely a wince. By now her poor mother was probably halfway out of the ground from spinning so much. First the knock off Louboutin’s this morning, then an entire afternoon fawning all over Mrs. Lysandra Nott’s pretentiously horrible style, and now small talk with a Muggle-born Ministry prosecutor from Leeds. It really was enough to give one hives.

Pansy’s words seemed to have been the right ones as Granger gave her a wide smile. “That makes me so happy to hear, you have no idea. I’ve been so afraid that things would be impossible between the two of us after the trial, but Blaise assured me that I was making it far bigger than it actually was, I have a tendency to do that you know. And I’ve so desperately wanted to speak with you before tonight, but we’ve been absolutely slammed at the Ministry, what with the influx of Belgian Nymphs trying to relocate and the Trolls fighting over their next Minister, and I’ve been so busy I couldn’t even tell you what day it was without my assistant reminding me every ten minutes,” Granger said. Pansy downed half of her champagne in one go as she tried to tune the witch’s prattling out.

“But then you and Draco arrived early to help us out and we really couldn’t have finished the decorations without you, really, you’ve been such a big help tonight. Even just showing up would have been a big help since the two of you have been such a large part of Blaise’s life. Neither of us thought it appropriate to leave either one of you out of tonight, regardless of what people will think or say. You’ve always been important to him, and I’d like to think that he’s much like what Ron is to me,” Granger said and Pansy bit down on a snort at how apt her description of their relationship was. Apparently Blaise hadn’t mentioned that particular chapter of their relationship to her. 

“It’s especially important to him since things have been changing so much lately, and so quickly too. And it’s all about to get more complicated soon. Not complicated, that’s a bad way of putting it, just different. Much different. And I’d hate to leave any of his friends out of this part of his life. He’s lost so many people already, between the war and the family disapproval and all. Blaise has already lost several friends for dating me, but he refuses to talk to me about it and I just feel so awful that I can’t do anything about it,” Granger said quietly.

Pansy quirked an eyebrow at the admission. It hadn’t ever occurred to her that Granger might feel any regret that Blaise had lost contact with well-known Death Eater sympathizers. She’d have thought Granger would have thrown a party instead. “I wouldn’t call Shafiq or Bulsim friends. More like forced family acquaintances one made nice with over wassail and horrible jumpers once a year.”

Granger gave a small titter though it appeared to be more from nerves than any actual humor. “Still, I’d hate for him to lose any more of his friends. He can count them on one hand lately. And I’d certainly hate for you or Draco to lose any of the friends you have either, despite everything that I’ve done to the both of you,” she said, a small tremor beginning to form in her voice. 

“And I’ve been nothing but horrible to Draco after the war, calling for raids on his house and a complete audit of his finances. Even more so when Harry finally told us that they’d been seeing each other. At first I thought he’d poisoned Harry and I made him go to St. Mungo’s to be tested, did you know that?” Granger asked as tears began to form at the corners of her eyes. Pansy took a small step away and made sure her hands were visible. That way there would be enough distance between the two for plausible deniability if Granger began to cry.

“And it wasn’t until last month when Blaise finally told me how awful I was being that I realized I’ve been absolutely dreadful to the both of you since the war, taking my pain and frustrations out on the people who needed help more than anything. It just makes me want to crawl into a hole every time I see you or Draco lately,” Granger sniffed as tears began to slowly trace streaks of mascara down her cheeks. This time Pansy took a step back to avoid being associated with cheap mascara.  
“We were only children, all of us, and I thought I was above all the pettiness but I’ve been the worst of us, refusing to forgive you for what you’d done. Even before the pig incident I made sure you had to go through so much red tape just to open your shop, and then I’d send round an inspector every month just on the off-chance you were using it as a cover for the dark arts. But you’ve been nothing but kind to me in helping to set all of this up, then there were those lovely flowers for the holidays, and the condolence card for Crooks, and I just, I just –“

All of a sudden Granger began to sob, her words turning into meaningless sounds that would make any boggart proud. Pansy watched, horrified, as Granger began to sob into her hands, her shoulders rising and falling almost to the beat of the music. The sound of the crowd finally snapped her into motion and Pansy frantically began to look around for Blaise, or Potter, or hell even Draco, anyone who was more qualified to deal with the bawling witch.

“Please stop crying Granger,” Pansy muttered. The last thing she could afford was to be seen standing next to a sobbing Ministry official regardless of the reason. By morning the whole situation would be twisted against her by the best gossips in the crowd and the money she’d just sunk into having those new catalogues printed and shipped would be in vain.  
When it became apparent that no help was on its way Pansy pulled the still sobbing witch towards the loo, throwing elbows and stomping toes that refused to move out of their way. “Granger, whatever it is I did to cause you such anguish you have my most profound apology. I have absolutely no bloody idea what I’ve done, but I promise never to do it again so long as you stop bloody crying,” Pansy muttered as she dragged the witch after her. 

Once in the hallway it took little time to reach the women’s loo. Pansy shoved Granger ahead of her and sent one last scathing look at the small crowd that had followed before slipping in after. Pansy’s sudden entrance caught the attention of the two older witches at the mirror, one she recognized from the Muggle Liaison Office as being horribly inefficient and frumpy. Pansy glared at the both of them but it appeared that neither wanted to give up their front row seats to this scandalous scene. 

Ministry restrictions be damned this was both of their reputations on the line and Pansy would be damned if all her hard work in the past year would be lost because of a pair of gossip-mongering bureaucrats. She eyed the wand shoved in Granger’s hair thoughtfully but decided for once to take the higher road. “If either of you were smart enough, though based on those hand bags that’s doubtful, you would both leave now before I make you look any worse than you already do.” 

The Liaison woman scoffed and crossed her arms. “Excuse me, but we were here first. Besides, how do we know you’re not planning to do something horrible to our poor Ms. Granger here? We all know your reputation and the history between you two.”

Pansy only raised an eyebrow. As far as insults went she really expected more from Ministry trained boors. The woman only stared back and it was clear that both women were refusing to leave. Pansy sighed and grabbed the wand from Granger’s hair, the wood warm and electric in her hands and she had to suppress a shiver of anticipation at the sudden spark of magic. A few words and a complicated pattern were all that was needed to send scaly chartreuse and pink patches creeping along the Liaison woman’s body. Pansy ignored the shrieks of indignation and turned to the second woman who was cowering behind her friend. 

“Take your friend and leave unless you want matching scales.” When the woman hesitated, Pansy barked out “Now,” and it was all she needed to drag her still shrieking friend out of the door. As the door closed behind them, Pansy caught a glimpse of the steadily growing crowd outside the door, likely drawn by the rumor the she’d kidnapped the belle of the ball. The door was locked with one quick wave of the wand and a second pattern removed the lingering stench of cheap perfume from the air.  
“Thank you for that,” Granger finally mumbled through her tears. “I don’t think I could handle anyone else seeing me cry today, let alone Mildred from accounting. To be honest I don’t know if I can handle the rest of the night,” she said as she lowered herself onto the settee. 

Pansy braced herself for another emotional outburst as Granger began sniffling again. If she was going to keep this up Pansy would need something far stronger than the two glasses of champagne she’d had earlier. Her fingers itched for the cigarettes left behind in her coat pocket and Pansy eyed the purses that Mildred and the Liaison woman left behind in their haste. A little snooping and perhaps petty thievery would pale in comparison to her stunt just now. In for a hare, in for a hog as her granddad used to say when he got caught pickpocketing in Diagon Alley. 

“I wouldn’t worry about tonight Granger. You forget you can do no wrong,” Pansy assured her airly. She dumped the first purse onto the counter, a cheap Gucci knock-off that was covered in bright magenta flowers, and a bright turquoise handkerchief fell on top of the pile. “Regardless of what really happened you’ll be portrayed as the hapless victim, emotionally tortured by your fiancé’s jilted ex-lover,” she said as she handed the handkerchief to Granger. “Though I am starting to develop an immunity to those nasty little insults that damned Skeeter woman calls me, I still won’t be surprised if there is a mob to greet me when I open up tomorrow.”

Granger paused in dabbing at her eyes and looked at Pansy. “Ex-lover? You mean you and Blaise …” She trailed off as she tried to find an appropriate description.

Pansy raised an eyebrow at Granger’s delicate sensibilities. “Fucked like rabbits?”

The witch bit her lip and looked down at the handkerchief she was now worrying at in her hands. Pansy sighed and began to dig through the pile of crap in front of her. She didn’t know why she cared that the information might have upset Granger, but she felt responsible for putting the record straight before Blaise was brought into the conversation. Draco was right, she was going soft. 

“It’s nothing to worry your frizzy little head about Granger. It was years ago, right after the war. We were both so battered and broken from everything that we moved to Mexico to get away from it all. The whole thing was purely physical, born of boredom, being ostracized by the magical community at large, and the fact that neither of us spoke the local language,” Pansy added to soften up the truth. 

A lie was surely better than the truth in this situation. Pansy doubted Granger could take the knowledge that Blaise would often talk of running away together to Russia or Panama, settle down in anonymity, and live the life their parents never dreamed of. And it was certainly preferably not to mention the pregnancy scare that had driven her back to London and away from Blaise and the life they’d shared. And it most definitely was best not to mention the emerald encrusted ring Pansy still kept in the back of her nightstand, the ring Blaise had never asked to be returned after all these years.

There was silence as Granger mulled through the latest information about her beau and Pansy took the opportunity to shift through the second purse, another cheap knock-off that failed miserably in its attempts to look like a Louis Vuitton. Just the thought of the cracking plastic was enough to send her into fits, but deep inside an inside pocket Pansy discovered a lovely sapphire earring hooked onto an even lovelier malachite cigarette case. She flipped the case open and sighed in relief when she found three cigarettes lying against a brilliant mother-of-pearl backing. Now if there was only a matching lighter.

“He proposed last week,” Granger said softly. Pansy made a small noise as she gave up and dumped the entire purse’s contents onto the counter. Quills, coins, and scraps of paper spilled onto the floor as Granger continued. “It was all quite lovely. He brought me my favorite flowers, a lovely box from Honeydukes, elven wine. He even made dinner.”  
Pansy rolled her eyes as she picked through a make-up bag. Of course he had. She knew all too well what Blaise had planned that night as she’d been the one to walk him through the whole night. She’d even gone so far as to teach him how to cook that particular dish the morning of the proposal.

“It wasn’t until after dinner when he was clearing the table that he kneeled down and proposed. I was so beside myself that I said yes without even thinking.”

Pansy scowled as she came up empty handed. Two purses and not a single match between the two. Witches really were useless without a wand, weren’t they?

Her scowl must have caught Granger’s attention and the witch rushed to continue, eager to dispel any misconceptions her words might have brought on. “I was absolutely over the moon that he asked, don’t get me wrong. He makes me exquisitely happy and I’d like to think I do the same for him. It’s just, we’ve only been dating officially for a year and it all seems so sudden.” Pansy made a small conversational noise that seemed to appease Granger and she went back to the first purse, hoping that she’d overlooked a pocket or two.  
“It’s really only in the past few months that we’ve really gotten close though, and we’ve only been dating publicly for the last three weeks. I’m just not sure how things will be now that everyone knows. It was nice, just keeping it to ourselves, but now that it’s out in the open it’s all going to change. It always changes once everyone knows,” Granger added quietly. 

Damnit. Still no sign of a lighter or a match. Pansy sighed and threw the purse down onto the floor, the varnish from the forgotten wand winking at her like an ill-suited copper temptress on the counter. Knowing that Granger would not stop talking without a major catastrophe, Pansy reached for the wand. She would need something just to get through this impromptu heart-to-hear.

“Sometimes I think it’s just the idea that my parents knew each other for ten years before they settled down. They really got to know who the other one was, and who they were in the relationship, before committing. You might think this silly but I’ve always thought I wouldn’t be married before thirty-three.”

Pansy slipped a cigarette between her lips and mumbled the spell to light the tip of it. “My parents were married by the time they were seventeen, arranged of course, and I was born before Mother graduated Hogwarts. I was always to be sold off to the highest bidder the minute I turned eighteen, so I wouldn’t complain too much about making it this far.”  
Granger gave a mirthful laugh and Pansy looked at her quizzically. “Even if I’m too big to fit into my wedding dress by the time I say I do?” Granger asked with a hand to her stomach.

“You mean –“ 

Granger nodded and Pansy’s mouth fell open. The cigarette dropped the floor as the two women stared at each other. Well this certainly changed a lot of things. 

“How far along?” Pansy asked in a low voice. 

“About three months,” Granger whispered.

“Does Blaise know?”

Granger’s sallow face told Pansy everything she never thought to ask. “No,” Granger said softly and the tears began to flow from her eyes once more, this time from a legitimate fear rather than some misplaced sense of guilt.

Pansy closed her eyes as she drew in a large breath. The gods must be having a grand time with her tonight. She had no business consoling anyone let alone a crying pregnant woman who had been trying to make her life miserable for years and was now almost in the same position Pansy had been in eight years earlier. The only difference this time was that for some reason Granger wanted that life whereas Pansy never did.

“Is there a reason you haven’t told him?” Pansy asked through a clenched jaw, praying that her suspicions weren’t right.

“I’m afraid he won’t want children,” Granger admitted in a hiccup. She began to pick at a loose thread in the handkerchief and refused to look at Pansy. “He’s never once said a good word about his own parents. Whenever we go out anywhere and there are children he closes off, and then later when we’re alone he always mentions how horrible his own childhood was and how no child should go through what he or his friends went through.”

Well that was a relief. That was a reality Pansy could deal with. “Thank Morgana,” she muttered as she ran her hand through her hair. “You had me thinking it might be someone else’s child for a moment.” The look Granger shot her surely would have killed a lesser witch but at least she wasn’t crying anymore. “Look, Granger. Hermione. I’ve known Blaise far longer than someone my age should ever admit to. And I can assure you that he desperately wants to be a father someday despite his own being worse than a pair of vampires during a blood lust. And I know that he’ll be a damned good father to whatever you two spawn and he’ll spend his entire life trying to do you and them right.”

Granger sniffed and wiped at her eyes with the stolen handkerchief. “You think so?”

“If anyone knew these things it would be me. He was always the one looking after the first and second years at school and he’s been an absolutely doll with my sister’s children. Now dry those tears, you have nothing to worry about on that front. Though we should probably clean you up a bit before they send in a team of Unspeakable’s to come rescue you from my nefarious ways.”

Granger laughed at that and stood up to move towards the mirror as Pansy reached for the wand in the sink. A few simple spells and the mousy hair looked far better than when she’d first arrived three hours ago. Another wave and Granger’s face was cleared of the ruined make up and tear stains.

“Perhaps I should hire you to do this for me next time. You’re far better at it than I ever was,” Granger joked lightly.

Pansy pulled out a small expandable make up back from her bra and began to fish around for a tube of eyeliner and mascara. “It’s what I do darling. Besides, you could never afford me with what the Ministry pays you,” Pansy drawled as she pulled the woman’s face towards her. “Look up and don’t move or I might take out your eye,” she instructed. Granger did as told and Pansy began to painstakingly draw on a thin line of kohl around her eyes. “Besides, once you marry Blaise you’ll have half of all his money and I’m more than happy to take his other half as payment to keep you looking good.”

Granger laughed at that and Pansy applied the last bit of eye shadow. With a critical eye Pansy inspected her work for any flaws or missed areas. Finding none, she stepped back and lit another cigarette as Granger turned to look at herself. 

“I do believe you’re ready for your close up now. Shall I call Mr. Deville, or would you like to?”

“How on earth do you know that reference?” Granger asked, her eyes wide with shock.

Pansy waved the question away with the cigarette case before tucking it into her bra. “Draco loves those old movies. He made me buy him a TV and one of those CRV’s last year for Christmas and he’s always got one going in the background.”

“VCR’s,” Granger corrected absently as she patted at her hair. She tucked her wand into the top of her stockings and adjusted her dress before turning towards Pansy. “What do you think?”

Pansy stepped back and appraised the witch in front of her. Oddly enough she was enjoying this private moment far more than any of the other appointments today. If this kept up she might even find what might have attracted Blaise’s attention in the first place. 

“You’re missing something,” Pansy finally decided. She turned back to the sink to pick up the sapphire earring and began searching for its mate in the junk strewn across the counter. Granger stooped over and began toeing through what had fallen on the floor.

“Is this it?” Granger asked a minute later as she held up the second earring.

Pansy grinned and handed her half to the witch. “I have to admit you’ve impressed me, Granger. I never would have thought you of all people would willingly participate in petty thievery.”

Granger slipped the first earring on and smirked. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Pansy. I’m not the goody-two shoes most people seem to see me as. Besides that awful woman you gave scales is the biggest bitch I’ve ever had the misfortune of working with. Even Umbridge would have nightmares, I’m sure of it.”

Pansy chuckled and watched Granger slip the second earring on. “I believe you’re ready to face the world now, darling. And looking far more presentable than when you came in, if I do say so,” she said as she extinguished her cigarette and began towards the door. She had only made it a few steps before Granger took her hand and stopped her.

“Pansy, thank you, really. You’ve been so much nicer than I could have ever hoped for, especially with everything that I’ve done to you. Telling me which caterers to use, picking out this dress for me, the make-over,” Granger said with a wave towards her face. “I just want to apologize for these past few months. Really the past ten years. I’ve been so stuck in the past thinking you were the same girl who bullied everyone at school and I’ve missed who you’ve grown up to be. My own prejudices kept me from moving on and healing old wounds that shouldn’t matter anymore. It hadn’t occurred to me that your experiences might have been just as horrible until Ron mentioned he’d met you a few months ago and –“

Pansy narrowed her eyes at the mention of that particular incident. “And what exactly did Weasley say about that?”

Granger’s eyes went wide as she realized she’d gone a step too far. “Nothing, really. Just that it had to have been hard for you and Draco to be raised in that environment. That’s all I meant, really, that it hadn’t occurred to me that your home life might have been difficult in its own ways, and if you ever need to talk –“

Gut churning, Pansy jerked her hand away. Of course there was another angle to this whole thing, there always was with Granger. “Let’s get one thing straight Granger. I do not need your pity nor do I need your false praise. What I did just now was to save my reputation, not yours. I don’t give a damn about what you or anyone else thinks of me. And I damn sure don’t need you butting into my life just to boost your own image for forgiving the Death Eater’s daughter. My life has finally started heading in the direction I want it to and I refuse to let you stir up the past just so that you can feel better about yourself,” Pansy spat, for once letting her anger shine through the mask she wore every day.

Granger fell silent and if Pansy had a soul she knew she would feel guilty about her response to Granger’s kindness. Instead she took a second to breath in deeply and composed herself before pulling the door open. As suspected, a large crowd had gathered around the bathroom door, no doubt wanting to see the bloodshed first hand. Blaise was the first to approach her, and Pansy scowled at him.

“Not now, Blaise,” she muttered as she pushed past him through the crowd. Pansy ignored Granger’s calls to wait and made her way back towards the ballroom, making sure to step on as many toes as possible.

Wanting nothing more than to find Draco and leave, Pansy searched for ten minutes before finding Draco speaking with one of his old business partners. She took his elbow and waited for a break in the conversation to whisper into his ear, “Take me home now and I won’t castrate you with my pruning shears tonight.”

Draco only smirked, far too used to her threats and turned back to his companion. “Come now Pansy, we’ve only just arrived. Have you met Wilkins? He has some very interesting ideas about my portfolio and he’s been just dying to meet you after finding out how well you’ve been doing.”

Pansy smiled tightly and gave Wilkins her hand. If she didn’t need Draco to apparate home she would have punched him in the gut and stalked off, propriety be damned. As it was it took her ten minutes to extricate herself from the boring and boorish man who was trying his hardest to sell her shop and all her formulas for a ridiculously low price. When he threw out a number that was far lower than her sales last month, Pansy finally had enough.

“It’s an absolute pleasure to meet you Mr. Wilkins, but I’m afraid I’m going to have to excuse myself. Other people to meet you know,” she told him as she removed her arm from Draco’s. She had to suppress a shudder as Wilkins stooped to plant a sloppy kiss on the back of her hand. Pansy turned to Draco and wiped her hand against his suit jacket, not even trying to hide her disgust. “Darling, if you need me I’ll be at the bar.” Draco only nodded and went back to his conversation with Wilkins, no doubt talking of some underhanded scheme to defraud old ladies out of their retirement.

Pansy stalked out of the ballroom, stopping only to snatch a flute of champagne and downing it before she ever made it to the exit of the ballroom. Luckily there was no one in the lobby that cared to speak with her and she made it to the bar uninterrupted. As she entered, she paused to pick up a book of matches and survey the room. A shock of red-hair and a crooked nose at the end of the bar caught her attention. The night was looking up already. 

She made her way towards the man and sat one seat away from him. He was too busy eating peanuts and staring vacantly at the football match playing at the bar to even notice her. It wasn’t until she ordered a vodka tonic that he finally realized he had company and he almost fell out of his seat in surprise.

“What the bloody hell are you doing here Parkinson?”

“I was invited,” she said as she sipped at her drink. “And watch your language Weasley. What would Granger think if she heard you speaking like that at her engagement party?”

“What she thinks is no longer my problem anymore,” Weasley told her evenly. He brought another handful of peanuts to his mouth and turned his attention back to the game. “Besides, she’s wound herself up so tight lately I’m surprised she hasn’t pulled a muscle yet. Why do you think I’m at the bar?” he muttered.

Pansy laughed and pulled the cigarette case out of her bra. Weasley’s hand paused as he went for another handful of peanuts and she smirked at how easy it was to redirect his attention. “Enjoy it while you can Weasley, it’s going to get much worse in the next six months,” she warned as she lit the last cigarette.

He paused and turned to face her. “And what is that supposed to mean?”

“Only that the wedding will have to be pushed up so that the pictures don’t show an extra guest,” Pansy said with a smile. Weasley narrowed his eyes at her and she remembered how much fun it was when you held all the cards in the game. When he continued to stare Pansy rolled her eyes. “Come now, Weasley. I haven’t had a secret this juicy in years. I’m certainly not spilling the beans twenty minutes after I heard it. Besides, you’ll know in three months.”

Weasley leaned against the counter and rolled the peanuts around in his hand as he tried to mull over her cryptic words. For her part Pansy took the opportunity to study him, watching his lips move as he muttered to himself under his breath. He really had grown up nicely hadn’t he? He certainly filled out that suit nicely enough, though he did need more practice on that Windsor knot. Perhaps there was hope for him after all.

Weasley’s voice cut through her observation and for the second time Pansy was struck at how intuitive he could be. “She’s not pregnant is she?” 

Pansy tapped her nose and gave him a wink before bringing the stolen cigarette up to her lips. “In one, Weasley. I’m impressed.”

“She’s pregnant?” he yelped. Several people turned to stare at him and he hunched over into himself. “She’s pregnant then?” he repeated in a softer tone.

“You never heard that from me,” Pansy told him with a pointed look. “And don’t go spreading that around before she announces it. She hasn’t told Blaise yet.”

Weasley looked at her in surprise. “How the bloody hell did you find out before he did? I thought the two of you hated each other?” His eyes narrowed in suspicion and Pansy rolled her eyes, knowing what was about to come next. “You didn’t slip her something did you?”

“Yes, I slipped something into her drink so that I can make the family reunion in Azkaban this year,” she said wryly. She flicked ash into the tray before continuing. “All I’ll say is that Granger had a bit of a melt-down in the ballroom, of which I had nothing to do with, I assure you,” she added at his look, “and let it slip while we were in the bathroom. You’d be surprised what those hormones will do to a woman. My Cousin Gilda had such a craving for dragon tongue during her pregnancy that we had to lock up the family pets until she gave birth.”  
The poor weasel looked shaken by the news and Pansy wondered if it was more that she’d found out before he did. After a moment he threw back what was left of his pint and raised his hand for another. “Bloody fucking hell. I’d known they were serious, but I didn’t think they were that serious.”

“They’re planning a wizarding marriage Weasley. Bonding of magic and money, how is that not serious enough to have a child with someone?”

He waved his arms about as he tried to come up with the words and Pansy pulled his pint closer to her to save it from gravity. “It’s, well. It’s more serious. You can be married to someone and still hate their damn guts in the morning, but if you have a kid with someone. Well, there’s at least eighteen bloody years of your life that you’re chained to them. Then there’s all the holidays after that, and the birthdays. And you’ll have to make decision together regardless of whether you like each other or not. If you get married and find out you can’t stand each other you just move into separate shite apartments and agree to look the other way on the things that might make your mother cry if she were to ever know about them.”

Pansy raised an eyebrow at his outburst. “You seemed to have thought that scenario through a bit more than normal.”

Weasley snorted into his pint. “Blaise isn’t the first bloke to think about buying her a ring.”

“Hm. Well, if it’s any consolation she’s not the first to have received a ring from Blaise either. I do have to say his taste has deteriorated through the years though. Yours on the other seems to be improving with age,” she said with a sideways glance at his suit. Off the hanger, yes, but at least he’d had it tailored for his tall frame. 

Weasley glanced at her but she refused to say anything more on that topic tonight. “Merlin’s balls,” he said after a moment. “Is there anyone who hasn’t thought about marrying someone from Slytherin?”

“Draco, for one. I hear he’s fonder of maroon and gold these days,” she said, mostly trying to get a rise out of Weasley. 

“Do you know what the worst of this whole thing is?” he continued, ignoring her jab and the following pout. “Now for the rest of my life I’m going to be surrounded by bloody silver and green. Monday it’s all maroon and gold, the on Tuesday you find the towels have slowly been turning green, then by Saturday boom. The whole flat’s gone Slytherin and you can’t even use your favorite mug anymore now that it’s covered in snakes.”

Pansy snorted at his single mindedness. “I’m sure that would be quite an upgrade from whatever mishmash of styles you probably have. Besides that’s only the best outcome.”   
“Oh? Then what’s the worst?” he asked with a scowl. 

“I could be sleeping on maroon and gold sheets before Sunday,” Pansy said with a smile. She raised her drink in a toast to him before bringing it to her lips. Weasley laughed and she felt something in her chest warm at the sound.

“I’ll drink to that,” he said with a wink.

Pansy bit down on a smile and shook her head at his behavior. “Careful Weasley. If I didn’t know any better I’d say you were trying to flirt with me. And you wouldn’t want to give nice girls like me the wrong impression would you?” she teased.

Weasley rolled his eyes but Pansy saw the flush that was beginning to creep up the back of his neck. “If I was trying to flirt with you, you’d probably be covered in beer by know. Or have you forgotten how I make a damn fool out of myself around women?”

She laughed at his honesty. “I’d rather avoid a repeat of the second-hand embarrassment you subject all of us to at Hogwarts, thank you,” she said good-naturedly.

He winked at her and grinned. “What you don’t want a repeat of me running starkers into the Squid’s lake?”

“Only if I can join you this time around. I hear it’s very invigorating this time of year.”

Weasley chuckled at that and they both found themselves turning back to the football match, the years of open hatred and rivalry lying forgotten between them. Clapping was heard from down the hall and Pansy could only assume that Blaise had announced their engagement. A few moments later a round of cooing and more applause followed. Granger must have pulled on her big girl pants and shared her secret if that was the response. Weasley glanced towards the hallway but didn’t comment. 

It wasn’t until the first commercial break that Weasley broke the silence between them. “Parkinson, can I ask you something?”

Pansy raised an eyebrow. This wasn’t the first time that question had been put to her and in her experience there were only five possible answers to that question. 

“No, I never did what Nott claims we did on the Quidditch Pitch or anywhere else for that matter. Yes, the Ministry took everything but a haunted mirror and that went to my sister. Yes, I was in fact the one to find my father the next morning. It was as bloody and gruesome as the papers said and yes, peroxide will take blood out of almost anything, including cashmere. All of the recipes I use are my own invention and no, I did not steal them from you or anyone else and no, I will not sell them to you. And yes, they are real despite Draco’s claims. A little lifting tape does wonders for one’s figure.”

Weasley only blinked owlishly and Pansy realized far too late that she’d completely misread the situation and she’d given him far more information than he was after. She picked up her glass and drank deeply to keep herself from making the situation worse.

“What are you on about? That’s, no. Nothing like that. And what does Nott have to do with anything? What did, no. Wait. I don’t even want to know about any of that,” Weasley stuttered as he peered at her chest. Once he realized that he was looking he looked away quickly. “And I’m sure Draco has no idea what he’s talking about in that realm anyways. Fake ones don’t sit like that,” he muttered. He cleared his throat before getting around to his original question. “No, what I wanted to ask was why you’re so insistent on taking off my clothes.”

Pansy smirked at his phrasing and watched as his brain finally caught up with his mouth. He flushed an even deeper shade of red as he began to backtrack. “I mean why do you want me naked? Wait, no, I mean why do you want to strip me?” A strangled noise came from the back of his throat and Pansy didn’t even bother to hide her laughter. If he wasn’t so red she might even call his reaction adorable. 

“I know what you’re trying to say darling,” she told him as she patted his hand. “There’s really no need for you to get your knickers in such a twist like that.” Weasley let out a large breath and ran a hand through his hair, the red slowly draining from his face. Pansy took a drag off the cigarette before striking once more. “Besides, if you get them too twisted it will make it that much harder for me to finally pull them off you.”

Weasley scowled at her, his face turning a violent shade of puce as he hid his face in his hands. Pansy almost fell off of her stool from laughing so hard.

“Yeah, yeah. Laugh it up,” he mumbled into his drink. 

“But you make it so easy, darling,” she told him breathlessly. She wiped a tear from her eye, still chuckling. “As for your question, let’s just say I like a challenge every now and then. And you may just prove to be my biggest challenge to date.”

“And what exactly is that supposed to mean?” he asked, bristling at her words.

“Calm down, darling. It’s not an insult. All I mean is that you dress like every other wizard out there. All thrown together and mismatched. A crime really with your frame. All I’m wanting to do is to find something halfway respectable that you’d actually want to wear on a daily basis. Besides,” she added as she stubbed out the cigarette, “you might require far more refinement and beautification than even I have at my disposal.” Pansy shot one longing gaze at the now empty cigarette case.

Weasley rolled his eyes and snorted. “Yes, because that’s what every bloke wants. To be ‘beautified.’ No self-respecting man wants to be beautiful.”

Pansy raised an eyebrow and motioned for another drink. “What a charmingly antiquated notion,” she said dryly. She tapped her fingers on the counter as she tried to find the best way to explain. “And I suppose you would also say that women only dress up to get a man’s attention?” Weasley opened his mouth and she raised a hand to stop him. “Trust me when I say that most assuredly is not the case. Unlike you, the rest of us like to put our best foot forward. It helps us feel more confident and self-possessed when we dress well. Like your friend Potter, for example.”

Weasley made a face at that. “What are you on about? Harry dresses the same as I do.”

“You haven’t noticed him dressing nicer lately?”

He rolled his head to the side and thought about it. “Now that you mention it, he has been doing laundry more than once a month.”

“And haven’t you noticed how much more attention he’s been getting lately? He’s been awful busy pulling together donors for that foundation of his. Or did you think it was his winning smile doing all of that?”

Weasley grinned at her. “Of course not. His charming personality and Chudly Cannon poster collection must have had something to do with it.”

Pansy scoffed and she reached for her new glass for strength. If he was this backwards she might have to call Draco in for backup. “Darling, humans are the only species where the female is expected to dress up and flit about in front of males who don’t even change their socks on a daily basis. All the other animals have things straight. The males have their bright plumage, their gifts, and houses they built specifically to attract a females attention. It’s only the males of our species, Muggle and Wizard, who are too lazy to get off their arses and do something worthwhile. Instead they’ve decided it’s easier to tell women they’re unattractive and if they’d only buy this or that product they’ll get the attention of some cretin who wears only sweatpants and hasn’t exercised in five years.” Weasley only rolled his eyes and Pansy could tell she was losing him. More the pity, she’d already picked out a lovely jumper that would do wonders for his eyes, but if he wasn’t willing then neither was she. 

“Quite ingenuous really, now that I think about it,” she continued. “One would have expected it to have occurred to a woman first.” Weasley chuckled at that and Pansy felt as if she should be offended. “And what is so funny about that?”

“You,” Weasley said with a smirk. “Here you are, going on and on about how men should gussy up for attention while you make a living selling beauty potions and make up so that these women can go about being more attractive to men,” he said as he grabbed the rest of the peanuts and began to eat them one by one.

Pansy smiled at that and he shifted uncomfortably as if he’d finally realized a trap had been sprung. “Darling, you crucially misunderstand what I do. I bring out one’s inner beauty. I don’t do it for men in the least. I do it for those who want to feel better about how they look so that they can go about their day without having to worry about whether they are keeping up with the Joneses so to speak. What I aim for is to give anyone who buys my products the confidence to be themselves and do things they might not have with it.”  
Weasley snorted at that and brushed his hands off on his trousers. “Then you must be the most confident woman alive with all that makeup smeared on you.”

Pansy raised an eyebrow at that. Was he really this obstinate. “And what is so wrong with my wearing makeup?”

“Nothing,” he said with a shrug. “Just don’t think I’ve ever seen your real face is all.”

“Not many people have,” she muttered. “But that’s neither here nor there. My point is that there is one thing all the men who have been splashed across Witch Weekly and thrown into celebrity status all have in common.”

Weasley gave her a lecherous smirk and Pansy realized she’d left the door wide open for his commentary. “What’s that? Their wand?” 

“Don’t be crass. No, what they all have is a refined sense of taste. Or at least they have one after the people who are paid to dress them halfway decently get done with them.”

“Of which you’re one, I presume.”

“Naturally. Why do you think I have so many repeat, high profile customers? Oliver Wood, for example.”

Weasley’s eyes bugged out at the name. “Wood? He goes to you shop? I have a hard time believing that. All he’s ever worn is old robes and Quidditch jerseys.”

“Believe it darling,” Pansy told him with a smirk. “He was one of the first to request my services. Of course he balked at my suggestions, but then again they all do. The amount of plaid in that man’s closet was nauseating, one would think he was the modern day William Wallace.”

“He is Scottish.”

“Being Scottish is one thing, this was something altogether. I ended up having to tie the delusional man to a chair so I could send his clothes off to be donated. Not that I mind tying a man up every now and then,” she added. Weasley choked on his beer and Pansy smiled. “When he finally stopped fighting me and looked at what I’d brought for him, he came around to my way of thinking.”

“And what way was that?” Weasley said with a quirk of his eyebrow and Pansy knew he had taken the bait. Now she just had to set the hook. 

“Quality always wins over quantity. I brought him something far better than those old jeans and polyester robes he was so fond of. And I implemented a no plaid rule. Well, no visible plaid.”

Weasley snorted, obviously unimpressed. “That doesn’t sound much better than what he’d been wearing before.”

“Really? Then why did the powers that be vote him the most well-dressed man on the Pitch the past three years running? He was the most eligible bachelors for two of those years and would have been for a third if he hadn’t up and married that Cho woman. Fabulous cheekbones on that woman,” Pansy added.

“Oh please. He’s a Quidditch player, they’re always voted the most eligible bachelor when their team is doing well,” he said with a roll of his eyes. “Why should he care about being the best-dressed of anything? Not like it makes him a better keeper.”

Pansy paused and looked at him, honestly concerned that he was this oblivious to how the world worked. “You’re absolutely missing my point darling. He should care about being the best-dressed because like it or not he is a public figure and his image is half of his value to his team. Did you know that in those three years female attendance to his games tripled and jersey’s with his number sold out within a week of that article coming out. And when the announcement of his engagement came out Cho’s line of defensive products were snapped within a week by every major store, including that of your dear brother’s.”

Weasley became quiet at that. Despite his apparent qualms about clothing and appearances in general it seemed he had no argument against those numbers.

“And it’s not that hard to recreate so long as one has a good foundation to start with,” Pansy continued in an effort to drive her point home. “Even you might pass as presentable if you dressed like this a little more often. All you really need is a good push in the right direction.”

“You’d probably take the chance to push me right off a bloody cliff,” he responded, but there was no heat in his words. 

“I’m being serious, Weasley. If this suit is anything to go by there is some potential there,” Pansy said, pausing for a moment to look him up and down. Despite filling it out nicely his suit was still off the rack and his shoes needed a bit of polish. “Granted those shoes have certainly seen better days and your frame is far better suited for a bespoke suit, but you clearly have an eye for what a well-cut suit is supposed to look like. And that tie does wonders for your eyes.” 

Weasley shifted and glanced at her before looking away in what Pansy assumed was embarrassment over her compliment. 

“All you really need is a good tailor, a few new pairs of slacks, and a repellant charm on a set of cotton robes and you’d be miles above where you are now.” She paused as the image of his muddy trainers and stained robes flashed through her mind. “Perhaps a good incinerator as well.”

Weasley scoffed and took a drink of his now warm all. “Thanks but no thanks Parkinson. I’ve already had too many women telling me I look like a bloody mess. Don’t need to add another one to the list.”

“Yes, but have any of those women been me? Or have they all been like Granger?” His silence told her everything she needed to know. “Because if they were all one Granger after another I’d have to give you an award for fending off that mousy look for so long.” 

Movement at the front of the bar caught her attention and Pansy turned to find Draco waving at her with Potter skulking behind him. She lifted her glass in recognition and quickly finished it before picking up the cigarette case.

“I’d love to stay and chat more darling, but I’m afraid my ride has arrived,” she told Weasley. He glanced towards the door and Potter hesitated a moment before waving at him. Weasley nodded back but made no move to stand. Apparently he’d finally come around to the idea of those two being together. 

“You could always join us. I’m sure Potter will appreciate the company,” Pansy offered softly.

Weasley shook his head. “You go on. Hermione will kill me if I left this early. Besides, I should probably get back to my own date before she tracks me down,” he told her. He refused to meet her eyes as he laid down some of the Muggle paper money, enough to cover both their drinks.

Pansy pasted an indifferent smile on her face to hide the irritation that crept up on her from learning he hadn’t come stag. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you it’s bad form to accompany a woman only to abandon her to the wolves.”

Weasley shrugged and stared at the football match. “Even if the company at the bar is better?”

“Doubly so, I’m afraid,” she said with a smirk at the compliment. Pansy slid off the stool and replaced the cigarette case in her bra before sauntering to the end of the bar. She watched as Weasley began to finish off his pint before she called out to him one last time. “Though if your date tonight doesn’t work out I’m more than happy to help get you out of those clothes tonight. I’m sure we can find something to do that doesn’t involve jumping into the Squid’s lake.”

Pansy smirked as Weasley spilled what was left of his ale down the front of his lovely new suit. Draco’s laughter and Weasley’s cursing followed her to the lobby. Dreadful about not being able to save the suit though. Perhaps that would teach him how to properly set a water-repellant charm for once.


End file.
